He took a deep breath so her scent filled his head. Only then did he move. He was slow, penetrating to her core with every thrust and holding himself there as he glimpsed heaven.
She gave herself up to him. She was his partner, his darling, his lover. He wanted this communion to last forever.
He’d worked off his fierceness earlier. He felt no driving hunger to conquer or subdue or possess. Just this moving toward and away, endless as the tide or the rising and setting of the sun.
He kept up the deliberate, tender rhythm for an inhumanly long interval. He thought of nothing but the woman in his arms and how he loved her. He couldn’t speak. His feelings went beyond words. There was just darkness and sighs of pleasure and the soft sound of his body sliding in and out of hers.
He clung to that mystical closeness. But eventually his body bayed for satisfaction. He couldn’t hold himself back.
Her climax started slowly and built and built. It was like nothing he’d ever felt. The waves became a great crescendo that swept him with her into wild release. He gave himself up to her in a blinding burst of joy and love. Then held her safe as she slowly came back from the brink of the universe.
They would speak the words of parting later. But in his soul, he’d just said every farewell he needed to say.
Chapter 22
Grace crept into the salon and scuttled across to the elaborate desk that dominated one corner. It was still early. Mrs. Filey worked in the kitchen and paid no attention to comings and goings. Matthew had slipped outside to check on something with his roses.
She and Matthew wanted to present as normal an appearance as possible today. After the night’s unbridled passion, there had been a poignant joy in talking quietly as they dressed. She always loved to watch him shave, but this morning, the pleasure had been tinged with sharp regret that it was the last time she’d share the small, precious intimacy.
They had touched constantly as they’d moved about the bedroom. Tiny, glancing contacts. She wondered how she’d survive without the gentle brush of his hand on her skin.
All the while, sorrow hovered unspoken, darkening the air. Matthew had infiltrated her very marrow. Every beat of her heart repeated his name. His scent was the air she breathed.
After such a night, how could she abandon him to his lonely prison?
She didn’t just abandon him. She meant to betray him.
Quickly, she checked over her shoulder but the door remained closed. As once before, she rifled Matthew’s desk. She wasn’t sure what she’d say if he found her snooping through his private papers. Certainly anything but the truth.
Pigeonholes ranked across the top held writing implements and stationery and nothing else. Frantic with guilt and her need to get back to Matthew, she turned her attention to the drawers.
Here she found what she wanted. Or at leas
t she hoped it was, she didn’t have time to check. If Matthew knew what she intended, he’d never forgive her.
Hurriedly, she bundled handfuls of documents into her pockets and down the front of her dress. She grabbed another pile without looking and fled the room.
Grace prayed guilt wasn’t written on her face when she entered the courtyard. Matthew looked up with a smile when she appeared. He’d seemed calm, composed this morning, but he’d learned to hide his deepest reactions in a cruel school. Biting her lip, she forced back tears. She had to be strong. For both of them.
“Come for a walk,” she said huskily.
His marked black brows contracted in a puzzled frown. This wasn’t part of the original plan. “Grace?”
She squared her shoulders as if she prepared for battle. Why not? She did. “Please.”
She didn’t know what he saw in her face but he set down his pruning shears and came to take her arm. “As you wish.”
Wolfram rose and trailed after them.
Silently, they made their way through the sunlit woods. As if by agreement, both stopped in the glade where he’d first kissed her. That magical moment seemed so long ago. She’d lived a lifetime with him since. A lifetime in a little over two weeks.
“Are you afraid?” he asked in concern, brushing a few wisps of hair back from her face. She played the widow Paget today and she’d braided her hair tight around her head.
“Yes, I’m afraid.” Then in a rush, “But I’m more afraid for you.”
His eyebrows arched in surprise. “Me? What can they do to me that they haven’t done before? I’ll be fine. I told you—my uncle’s control of the Lansdowne gold ends if I die.”
Once she might have believed him. Now she knew better. She’d had time to consider all the implications of his decision to send her away. With an abrupt gesture, she pushed his hand from her face.